


Ringing in Christmas Eve

by jadztone



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF Anthea (Sherlock), Blow Jobs, Christmas, Don't copy to another site, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Misunderstandings, Sharing a Bed, don't worry all that stuff happens when mycroft is able to consent, greg is a man of principles, moodboard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 10:42:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17021172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadztone/pseuds/jadztone
Summary: It's the night before Christmas Eve and Greg is at the hospital on business.  He runs into Sherlock, who has just been banned and therefore can't sign out his brother.  Mycroft is loopy from anesthesia and can only be released into a relative's care.  Greg pretends to be Mycroft's husband so he can take him home, and is more than a bit surprised by an impaired Mycroft's easy acceptance of this as fact.  Greg manages to chastely put him to bed, wondering what will happen in the morning when Mycroft is awake, alert, and hopefully not too angry about the deception.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Seasons Greetings! I originally wrote this with a limit of 5000, and so wasn't able to include the smut that I intended. But then the limit was lifted, so I wrote another 2000 words of smut. The smut is in the second chapter if you would prefer to skip it. 
> 
> This is my second year writing holiday fics for my favorite ships that include fake relationships and bed sharing, but my first time including mystrade.

Greg supposed one of the perks of his job was that instead of the tube or a taxi, he could occasionally get rides in a panda car.  Especially when it was the eve of Christmas Eve and traffic would be a nightmare.  It’s the least they could do for making him shlep out to the hospital when he was in the middle of his dinner.  Sure, it was only a crap frozen pizza, but he’d have liked to finish it. 

It was the perils of being on call during the holidays, but Greg figured better him than someone who had a family.  Not that Greg didn’t have family, but his parents were in Spain and his sister was staying with her boyfriend’s family.   

When he arrived at the A&E, Greg flashed his badge and told the receptionist he was there to take a victim statement.  He gave the name of the guy who’d been assaulted.  He was told to take a seat and someone would be out shortly, so he found an empty chair in the waiting area and took a load off.  It was chilly, so he stuck his hands in the pocket of his old overcoat and absentmindedly began fingering a hole that had worn in the lining.  He’d accidentally left his new one at the office the night before, but luckily he hadn’t gotten around to throwing this one out yet. 

‘Shortly’ turned into 20 minutes and the hole had gotten significantly wider, enough to put his hand through.  For kicks, he reached down the lining of the coat to see if any coins had fallen through the hole.  His fingers grasped something metal and cylindrical.  He froze.  It wasn’t a coin.  Pulling his hand out, he stared at the wedding ring he was holding.  Bloody hell, so that’s where the damned thing went. 

There was a moment during their divorce proceedings, as he watched the lawyers negotiate territory he no longer cared about, when Greg finally realised that there was no going back.  He and Melinda were done for good.  He’d taken his ring off and stuck it in his pocket.  Much later, he went to go find it, but he couldn’t remember what article of clothing he’d put it in.  Greg realised now that he never put his hand in the pocket to look for the ring, just pressed his fingers against the outside feeling for a hard lump.  Greg sighed and shoved the ring into the pocket that was hole-free.  He’d figure out what to do with it later.

After a few more minutes, a nurse came out and said that the victim must have changed his mind because they couldn’t find him.  She wasn’t even sure if he got treated because she never saw him.  Greg rubbed his hand down his face.  That happened quite a lot, especially when gangs were involved.  He thanked her and headed back to the entrance to go home, debating the merits of fighting the crowds at Tesco’s for a carton of ice cream. 

When he got outside, he was amazed to see Sherlock Holmes pacing the pavement in a strop, John attempting to calm him.  “The _one_ time I deign to do him a favour, and I get banned from the hospital for my trouble!” 

Greg started to walk over, noticing that Mycroft’s assistant Anthea was nearby typing on her blackberry.  If Mycroft was around, it explained why Sherlock was shouting - his brother seemed to have that effect on him. 

Mycroft had an entirely different effect on Greg.   Ever since he got to know Mycroft after the incident with his sister, Greg had developed what he could only call a crush.  The reason he could only call it a crush is because he would be crazy to try and make it anything more.

Greg cleared his throat.  “What have you gotten yourself into this time?”

Sherlock scowled at him.  “What are you doing here, Geoffrey?  No wait…you came to take a victim statement but he took off.  Don’t worry, he’ll do something stupid and be back after Christmas.”

John stepped in between them.  “It’s about Mycroft.  He’s in a bit of a pickle and Sherlock was supposed to help him out.”  He shook his head.  “Look at Anthea, I’ve never seen her this angry.”  Greg looked over at Anthea again, but she was still on her Blackberry. He shrugged at John, who smirked. “No, _look_ how hard she’s pressing the buttons.  She’s furious.”

Greg bit his lip to keep from laughing, because John was right.  “So what happened to Mycroft?  Where is he?”

Before John could open his mouth, Anthea answered him.  Or she didn’t so much answer as she released a torrent of information.  She told Greg how Mycroft had a very minor outpatient procedure and should have been back home hours ago, but he had a strong reaction to the anesthesia.  The hospital won’t release him unless accompanied by a relative who is on the list of next of kin.  His parents are in Italy with their line dancing group.  She had to make numerous threats to get Sherlock down here, and now _that’s_ gone down in flames.  Something to do with him deducing Mycroft’s doctor who happened to be the medical director, and he was kicked off the premises.  Anthea frowned into her Blackberry and muttered something about how if Mr. Holmes had legally adopted her as she’s suggested, they wouldn’t be in this mess.

Greg let out a gust of air as he processed everything.  “So, why doesn’t Mycroft just stay overnight until it wears off?”

Sherlock popped up next to him, looking gleeful.  “My brother has a horror of hospitals even on a good day.  But those drugs in his system are magnifying his fears into epic proportions.  In other words, he’s having a bad trip.”  He snorted.  “Amateur.”  Anthea leveled a glare at Sherlock that had Greg wanting to scurry away, but seemed to have no effect on the detective. 

Greg stuck his hands in his pockets, wondering if there was anything he could do.  His fingers once again curled around the wedding ring.  He absentmindedly remembered that Mycroft wore a ring.  It looked like a wedding ring, but it was on his right hand.  Greg was always a bit shy to ask him about it.  Maybe he was married to someone in a mirror universe.  Maybe it was a mirror version of Greg that wasn’t a fuckin coward and asked Mycroft out.    

Greg pulled the ring out of his pocket and stared at it.  He put the ring on his right ring finger and smiled.  “Anthea, I think I have an idea for getting Mycroft out of here.  Take me to the discharge nurse.”  Anthea gave him an assessing look, then marched into the A&E. 

When they got to the bulldog that was guarding the exit, Greg told her that he was Mycroft’s husband, and that they just got married last week and hadn’t got around to updating their info.  She narrowed her eyes, flicking them down to look at his ring.  “It’s on the right hand,” she said suspiciously.

Greg smiled like he was sharing a secret.  “Mycroft’s got his on his right as well.  It’s our little joke, has to do with how we met.  Hard to explain.  A bit private, you know?  Anyway there’s no legal requirement to wear it on the left hand.”

The nurse huffed.  “I dunno, this is a bit irregular.”

“How is it irregular?  Honestly, we only just got back from our honeymoon.  I promise we’ll correct the oversight right away, just let me take my husband home.”

The nurse scowled.  “It would help if you had some proof.  A marriage certificate or something.”

Greg threw up his hands.  “Yeah, that’s all the way across town, innit?  How long d’you think that’ll take?  Meanwhile my husband is in there, unable to cope with his fear of hospitals and he’s high off his tits.  You’re gonna make him suffer just because you want a piece of paper?  When it’s obvious we’re married?”

The nurse pursed her lips, and Anthea clearly had had enough.  “You know what this is about, Mr. Lestrade.  With her comment about you being irregular?  She’s homophobic.”

The nurse looked shocked.  She stammered, “N-no!  I said the _situation_ was irregular.  I would never!  Oh god.  Look, what about this… I take you back to see Mr. Holmes and if he identifies you as his husband, you can take him home.  Alright?”

 _Shit_.  Shit, shit, shit.  Greg spared a glance at Anthea. To his amazement, she looked amused instead of annoyed.  Greg faked a pleased grin and agreed to the nurse’s plan.

They went down the hall and opened a door.  Mycroft was laying on a bed, his complexion white as the sheet he was on, his skin looking clammy with perspiration.  His eyes were closed and he inhaled sharply as they stepped into the room.  “Anthea, what happened to Sherlock?  Is he signing the papers?  I’ll give him whatever he wants.”

Greg went over to the bed.  “Mycroft my love, it’s me.”

Mycroft’s eyes popped open and he stared, round-eyed.  “ _Gregory_?  You…you’ve come!  I hoped you would.  I made a little wish, and now here you are.”

Greg tried and failed to keep from blushing, but he could feel the heat creep in.  Mycroft had wanted him here?  He blinked and reached over to take Mycroft’s hand.  “Darlin, of course I came.  I know you’re not used to being married yet, but you’re my responsibility now.  All mine.”  He gave Mycroft a tender smile.

Mycroft’s eyes widened even further, his expression full of confusion.  “Married?  You’re my… _husband_?”  Here it comes, thought Greg, the jig is up.  Mycroft’s face crumpled and he looked close to tears.  “ _Damn_ these awful drugs, making me forget that I’ve married the most wonderful man in the world.”  He threw his arms around Greg’s waist, sobbing into his tatty old coat.  “Take me home, Gregory.  _Please_.”

Flooded with relief, Greg looked up at the nurse and raised his eyebrows.  She looked a little teary-eyed herself and she nodded vigorously, promising to bring the paperwork right away.  When she left, Greg indulged in a mental freak out over the fact that Mycroft bloody Holmes was apparently fine and dandy with the idea of being married to Greg.  Had called him _wonderful_.  Granted, he was high off his tits, but it was something.  Greg risked another glance at Anthea, who was back on her Blackberry, her smirk rivalling some of history’s smirkiest villains. 

Meanwhile, Mycroft had not yet let go of Greg’s torso, so Greg put his arm around Mycroft’s shoulder and told himself it wasn’t taking advantage if he occasionally rubbed his hand up and down his arm in a soothing manner. 

The nurse came back in with a clipboard and showed him where to put his name, how he was related, and signature.  Greg bit his lip, only just now realising that he, an officer of the law, was about to commit fraud.  Yet another glance at Anthea, and the look she was levelling at him convinced him that he would have far worse troubles if he backed out now.  He filled in where indicated and signed his name.  Well that was that.  There was now a document in existence where he claimed to be married to Mycroft Holmes, British Government.

Mycroft was persuaded to detach himself from Greg’s side long enough to sign his name to the same document.  He took a moment to smile dreamily at the form.  “Gregory Lestrade, _Husband_ ,” he read in a whisper.

Greg indulged in another mini freak out, and another glance at Anthea told him that she was officially holder of the title, The Cat Who Got The Cream.  It was rather interesting that this behaviour from Mycroft didn’t seem to surprise her at all.

Greg, Anthea, and the nurse (whose name he still didn’t know and didn’t care) worked together to gather Mycroft’s things and get him out of bed.  Mycroft insisted that Anthea and the nurse go away so that Greg could help him get dressed.  Anthea fled the room, but not quickly enough before the snort of laughter escaped her. 

Greg broke out into a cold sweat as he helped Mycroft get on his pants, keeping his eyes _firmly_ averted.  Greg was not as successful in maintaining his purity when Mycroft struggled to get on his shirt.  Greg bore witness to copious amounts of soft, creamy skin adorned with ginger freckles.  Why did it have to be _freckles_?  Greg was only human for fuck’s sake.   He hoped that the drugs were the type that made one forget afterwards that one had been dressed and ogled by a friendly acquaintance of one’s brother. 

Clothes on, he guided Mycroft gently to the door where the nurse was waiting with a wheelchair.  Greg was pleased to note that Mycroft seemed much calmer than he did before, his complexion more rosy.  When they got outside, the typical posh black car was waiting. 

Greg helped Mycroft inside.  “Alright, Mycroft, soon you’ll be home and in your own bed.  I’ll see you around some time.”  He started to back up to close the door.

Mycroft’s pleasant expression morphed into anguish.  “You’re leaving me?  Gregory, have I displeased you?  Why don’t you want to come home?”  His voice hitched in a sob.

Greg’s mouth dropped open.  Shit.  What the hell had he been thinking?  That Mycroft would just snap out of it as soon as he hit the cold, fresh air?  Once again he looked over at Anthea.

“Mr. Holmes has a spare bedroom with personal items such as a toothbrush, for unexpected overnight guests.”  Out of nowhere, Greg felt a spark of jealousy thinking about Mycroft’s _overnight guests_.  Somehow Anthea read his mind because she gave him a withering look.  “As in political colleagues.”

Greg blew out a sigh, thinking about whether to get into the car.  There were worse ways to spend the eve of Christmas Eve (what was left of it).  He went around to the other side of the car and climbed in, scooting to the middle so Anthea could take the end.  Mycroft promptly draped himself onto Greg, his face resting in the crook of Greg’s neck.  He gave a satisfied sigh against Greg’s skin, the little puff of warm air giving him goosebumps.

Greg had been inside Mycroft’s home a few times.  Polite little invitations for a drink that Greg had interpreted as gratitude for keeping Sherlock occupied, and for keeping Mycroft company when he was emotionally recovering from the Sherrinford mess.  Based on the sheer bliss with which Mycroft was nuzzling the hair behind his ear, Greg wondered in retrospect if the invitations had actually been for _more_ than a drink.

The moment they were inside the house, Anthea pulled a disappearing act worthy of David Copperfield.  Great.  “Mycroft, could you point the way to your bedroom?”

Mycroft chuckled lasciviously in his ear and wasn’t _that_ the biggest turn on since he went to see Wonder Woman.  “Don’t you know where our bedroom is, darling?  One would think you were the one on drugs.”

 _Darling_?!  Greg forced a light laugh.  “It’s a test, love.  I want to see how coherent you are.” 

Mycroft kissed his ear and every hair in the vicinity stood at attention.  “Brilliant, you are.  This way, Gregory my love.”  He pointed down a hallway.  Trying not to think about how easily Mycroft whispered endearments, Greg guided him forward until they stopped at the door he indicated.  Once inside, Greg helped him over to the bed. 

Mycroft sat down and Greg was relieved to see that his eyelids were drooping.  If he were at all lucky, Mycroft would slump over asleep so that he wouldn’t have to do anything else.

Mycroft fumbled with his shirt buttons and then frowned.  “Gregory, would you be a dear and help me undress?”

 _That_.  That right there was a perfect example of the ‘anything else’ he was hoping not to have to do. “Of course, sweetheart,” he said through gritted teeth.  And oh how telling it was that the endearments were slipping too easily out of his own mouth.

Greg helped him peel off the layers until he was only in his pants, and before Mycroft could start to tug those off, Greg yanked back the bed covers and said in a loud, cheerful voice, “There you go, all done!  Tuck those feet in.  Go on!”  Mycroft frowned in confusion, his thumbs still hooked into the waistband of his pants, but he scooted back and swung his feet up, tucking them under the covers. 

Greg was just about to think that he was in the clear when Mycroft scooted even farther to the other side of the bed, and held out his hand.  “Coming, dear?”

Greg shook his head.  “I’m gonna sleep in the spare room tonight.  You need to be able to sleep…uninterrupted.”

Mycroft’s face crumpled.  “You can’t leave me here alone, Gregory.  The drugs are still…amplifying everything.  The shadows…the loneliness.  I..I can’t bear it.”  Tears welled in his eyes. 

 _Christ_.  Why the hell did Mycroft live in this musty old house if it made him miserable?  Greg rubbed his face with his hand.  “Okay look, I will stay here, but you have to promise you will go to sleep right away.  You need your sleep!”  Mycroft nodded eagerly. 

Already regretting it, Greg said he’d be back and went in search of the bathroom.  He brushed his teeth and then went back to Mycroft’s room, hoping that he’d be conked out.  He was burrowed further under the covers, but his eyes were wide open. 

Realising he should have done this in the bathroom, Greg started to take off his shirt and trousers.  Mycroft’s eyes followed his every move, a yearning expression on his face.  Greg kept his vest and pants on, and resolutely climbed under the covers. 

Just as Greg feared, Mycroft pounced.  Like he had in the car, Mycroft draped himself across Greg and started nuzzling his neck.  Though his cock had other ideas, Greg steeled himself to put a stop to the proceedings.  “Mycroft!  You promised to go to sleep.”

Mycroft pouted.  “Don’t we cuddle when we sleep?” 

Greg wanted to say, ‘fuck if I know’ though the answer would probably be yes.  “Based on where your hand is heading, you have way more than cuddling in mind.  We are not doing this tonight, Mycroft.  You are very high and very much _not_ capable of consent right now.”

Mycroft scowled blearily.  “I don’t understand the problem.  We’re married.  I want you _all the time_.  Of course you have my consent.”

 _Jesus fucking Christ, Mycroft, you’re bloody killing me_.  “ _No_ I do not.  Not in _this_ moment.  You may have wanted me yesterday, and you may want me tomorrow.  But I cannot be assured that you really do want me right now.”

“But…”

“Mycroft Holmes,” Greg said in his best detective-inspector-taking-no-bullshit tone, “We are not having sex tonight, so get your hands out from under my vest _right now_.”

The look of profound disappointment on Mycroft’s face was almost Greg’s undoing.  He timidly pulled his hand out from under the vest and curled it under his chin. “My…my apologies.”

Greg sighed deeply.  He reached over and took the wandering hand in his.  He hoped he wouldn’t regret what he was about to say.  “Mycroft, I know that you’re feeling vulnerable right now.  Please do not think that I am rejecting you.  I want you more than I have wanted anyone in my life.  You are unbelievably sexy.  But I’m a man of principles.  They’re pretty much all that I have left in my life and I’m holding onto them.  Please respect that.  If you want to cuddle, we can cuddle, but please don’t ask for more.  When you wake up in the morning, if you still want to get into my pants, I will be happy to oblige.  I _promise_.  Is that a deal?”

Mycroft’s bottom lip actually _trembled_ , swear to god.  After a few moments, he pressed it against his top lip, his expression resolute.  “You are a brilliant negotiator, Gregory.  I agree to your terms.”

Greg sagged in relief.  “Good.  Thank you.  Now let’s get some sleep.” 

He settled down underneath the covers again.  Mycroft tentatively curled up next to him.  Greg looped his arm around Mycroft’s shoulders and pulled him even more tightly against him.  He could feel Mycroft’s body relax and it was only a minute later that Greg started to hear a very soft snore. 

Greg whispered, “Good night.  Sleep well.  You’ll most likely kill me in the morning.”  Greg soon fell asleep staring at Mycroft’s eyelashes fanned across the dark circles under his eyes. 

*

When he woke up the next morning, it took a few seconds to remember where he was, and then a few more seconds to realise to his disappointment that Mycroft was no longer in his arms.  He’d sort of been looking forward to that.  Mycroft was still in the bed, but he was sitting up with a sheet tucked beneath his arms and an imperious expression on his face.

Oh boy.  His voice still gravelly with sleep, Greg started to explain, “Uh..well…uh…you see…”  That went well.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows.  “I already know the circumstances that led up to you being in my bed.  Anthea e-mailed me the details.”

Greg scratched at the stubble on his chin.  “Alright.  So how bad is it gonna be for me?  Will it be big, like I’m made to disappear big?  Or something small and irritating, like all my electronic devises stop working?”

Mycroft’s lips pinched.  “Detective Inspector, I would hardly punish you for doing me a favour.”

“Detective Inspector?  Last night it was Gregory.”

This time Mycroft’s lips pressed into a hard line and he looked away.  “I just want to know one thing.  Last night you made me a promise.  Was it just to placate me so I wouldn’t…sexually harass you?”

Greg’s breath left him and he felt a flush rise up his chest and neck.  “Well, uh…if you remember _that_ , then you remember me telling you my principles are important to me.  I’m a man of my word, even when I give it to someone impaired.”

“So if I said I wanted to get into your pants, you would oblige?”  Mycroft’s chin lifted higher, but it was obvious he was…hopeful. 

Greg wondered if he was still asleep, because this conversation was not going in the direction he expected.  But he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.  He raised his eyebrows and gave Mycroft a suggestive look.  “Well, now, I think I’d at least want a kiss first.”

This time it was Mycroft’s cheeks that were turning red, but his expression was impish.  “That wasn’t part of the negotiation.”

Greg chuckled. “Well now, any negotiator worth his salt will recognise when their opponent has a weak spot and use it to make extra demands.”

Mycroft glowered at him.  “I do not have a weak spot!”

Greg grinned and put his hands behind his head.  “Based on your behaviour last night, I’d say I was your weak spot.  Something about me being wonderful.  And you wanting me _all the time_.”

Mycroft made a noise of consternation.  “Gregory, please.  I concede you have the advantage here.  Last night I was… alarmingly open about my regard for you.  You’ve said that your attraction to me was real.  But is that… _all_ there is?”

Greg’s grin faded.  Enough with the teasing and banter.  He reached out and pried open Mycroft’s hand from its grip on the sheet.  He enfolded it in his, rubbing his thumb across the top.  “I’ve been wanting to ask you out for ages, but I thought you’d never go for it.”  Greg brought the hand up and brushed his lips against the knuckles.  “I’m gonna lay my cards out on the table.  Will you go out to dinner with me tonight?”

Mycroft’s lip curled in a smile and he looked dazed.  “Yes.  Wait, _no_.”  His brow wrinkled and Greg felt whiplash.  “It’s Christmas Eve, Gregory.  Don’t you have family obligations?”

Greg raised his eyebrows, “You mean you don’t already have that info in your dossier on me?  My parents are in Spain and Becks is with her boyfriend.  Didn’t Anthea say your parents are in Italy?”

Mycroft gave him a smug smile.  “And Sherlock is with his boyfriend.  Looks like we are both free.”

Greg was back to smiling.  “Is that a yes on dinner, then?”

“I am afraid I must use my negotiating skills once again and make a counter offer that we have dinner here instead.  You see, I have already ordered rather a lot of food to be delivered this afternoon.  In the Holmes household, our tradition was always to have the big feast on Christmas Eve, and then Christmas day would consist of copious leftovers while we lazed about.  It was always my favourite part of the holiday and I couldn’t deny myself just because I’d be the only one partaking.”  Mycroft blushed a rather lovely shade of pink. 

Greg gave him a warm smile.  “Wow, that sounds really nice.  I accept your offer to let me join in your feast tonight.  I’ll try not to eat too much so you’ll actually have leftovers.”

Mycroft waved his hand.  “We can always order more food tomorrow.  I…I mean, _I_ can order more.”  The pink blush became a darker red.  “I am of course not presuming that you’d be here again tomorrow.  I’m afraid that would be asking too much.”

Greg folded his arms.  “Yeah, I’d say I wouldn’t be keen on navigating London on Christmas Day.  So if you want me over here to share your leftovers, you’ll just have to invite me to spend the night.”

Mycroft smiled brightly, and it was the most genuine smile Greg had ever seen from him.  “Gregory, I should hire you to teach a class on negotiating at MI5, you’re a natural.”

“I don’t know how good I am, since I still haven’t gotten that kiss I asked for in my earlier parley.”

Mycroft’s smile became shy, which almost convinced Greg that Mycroft was the one from a mirror universe, and he leaned down to press his lips gently against Greg’s.  Greg curled his arm around Mycroft’s waist and tugged, causing Mycroft to sprawl over his chest as Greg opened his lips and took the kiss deeper and Mycroft moaned against his mouth. 

When he came up for air, Greg nuzzled their noses together and said, “Happy Christmas, Mycroft.  I’m sure this is going to be the best one I’ve ever had.  And that includes the year I was 10 and got a pair of walkie talkies which my best friend and I used to eavesdrop on my parents’ New Years Eve party."

Mycroft huffed out a laugh and tilted his head to nuzzle Greg’s ear.  “I know for sure it will be my favourite one, and that includes the year I went to Bora Bora with the French president’s top aide who spilled all his filthy little secrets to me.  I’m still not sure how my Mata Hari seduction actually worked.  I was appallingly bad at it.”  He took a tiny bite of Greg’s earlobe.

Greg shivered.  “It’s working for me, darlin.  So I guess this means we also have spying in common with the negotiating.  We make the perfect team.”

“Mmmm, formidable.”  Mycroft lowered his head to kiss Greg again, this time his hand straying down Greg’s chest towards the waistband of his pants.  Well, a promise was a promise.  Greg was a man of principles.  And it was beginning to look like he might get to have _more_ than just his principles. 


	2. Chapter 2

Even as a young child, Mycroft had never believed in Christmas miracles.  And yet he had woken up to one this morning.  The only thing that assured him it wasn’t a dream was the dull but persistent ache that told him his pain killers had worn off.  Fortunately Anthea had left his prescription and a glass of water on his bedside table, and an e-mail in his mobile’s inbox explaining the events of the previous night in case he forgot.  He did recall the events, once he was fully awake and Anthea’s details filled in the gaps. 

Gregory Lestrade had actually pretended he was Mycroft’s husband.  He’d rescued Mycroft from the hospital.  He’d stayed with him _in bed_ even though it was completely unnecessary by that point.  And the most amazing bit of all was that, despite Mycroft’s increasingly humiliating behaviour, Gregory had assured him that he found him “unbelievably sexy.” 

It was a declaration that Mycroft had refused to believe as true until this moment.  He had his hand down Greg’s pants, reverently stroking up and down his cock, and going by the expression on the other man’s gorgeous face, he at least found this activity sexy.  A part of Mycroft mused that they were going a bit fast considering that they’ve only just confessed their apparently mutual regard.  But on the other hand, they’d known each other for so many years.  They were far past the point of taking things slowly. 

Mycroft eased back the waistband of Greg’s pants, freeing his cock completely, giving a tiny whimper at finally being able to see it.  His deductions had been spot on, but it was so lovely to have confirmation.  He went back to stroking it as he crept down the bed so that his face was right next to it.  Greg sucked in his breath, having cottoned on to Mycroft’s intentions.  Mycroft looked up at him, smiling lasciviously.  Greg already looked wrecked as he breathed out, “ _Mycroft_.”

“My dear Gregory, now that I’ve gotten into your pants, we’ve reached the end of our initial contract.  I have a new proposal for you.”  He breathed Greg’s base scent in deeply, and then let out a gust of air onto his cock.

Greg groaned, “Bloody buggering fuck, I’ll do whatever you want.  _Jesus_.”

Mycroft’s smile widened.  “I think for now I would be perfectly happy to suck this delightful cock until you come in my mouth.  In return, I want you to tell me every filthy thing that you’ve imagined doing to me over the years.”  He raised one eyebrow.  “I believe it’s only fair given how forthcoming I was last night.”

Greg looked at him in wonder.  “Brilliant, you are.  The most brilliant man I know.”

“Yes, that is true.  Do you agree to my terms?”

Greg let his head drop back as Mycroft allowed his nose to slightly graze against his balls.  “Fuck yes!  I’ll tell you anything.  Just please put that gorgeous mouth on me, you amazing creature.”

Feeling heady from the praise, Mycroft enthusiastically took the head of Greg’s cock into his mouth, lightly sucking as Greg moaned a string of profanities.  Mycroft paused, giving him an admonishing look.  Greg swallowed hard and words began spilling out as Mycroft took him further and further into his mouth.  He told him about when they first met, how he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off the trim cut of Mycroft’s suit even as he was thinking that Mycroft was just as mad as his brother.  He went on about how guilty he’d felt after their meetings to discuss Sherlock, because he was supposed to be a married man and he was fantasising about what Mycroft would look like under those suits.  Imagining what he would look like if he lost control. 

Mycroft gently fondled his balls as Greg confessed that after finding out his wife was cheating, he mentally retaliated by wanking to the fantasy of peeling the suits off of Mycroft and fucking him into oblivion. 

Mycroft sucked and licked at Greg’s cock in silent worship as Greg went on to talk about the times they had a drink at Mycroft’s house, and he could see the stress and sorrow in the other man’s eyes.  He’d felt an overwhelming desire to shuck off his trousers and straddle Mycroft’s lap, fucking himself on his cock until Mycroft forgot all his troubles, even his own name.  Mycroft groaned into Greg’s cock, thinking he _would_ forget his name in a minute.  His own cock was desperately trying to escape his pants, and he reached down to admonish it into submission.

“Mycroft!”  Greg’s voice was pure gravel.  “I see you touching your cock.  It’s not very fair of you to keep it to yourself.  Get up here.”

Mycroft scowled.  “You haven’t come in my mouth yet.  That was the deal.”

Greg’s eyes bore into his.  “I’m declaring a coup.  There will be no more negotiations.  Get up here, _now_!”

There was a very short list of people from whom Mycroft took orders, and Greg had just been added to that list.  He reluctantly released Greg’s cock and sidled up the bed.  Greg shucked his pants and his vest, and gave Mycroft’s pants a meaningful look.  Mycroft complied and eased them off his now aching cock, kicking them away.  Greg wrapped his hand around it, swiping his thumb over the leaking head.  Mycroft found himself using a word that was not a regular part of his vocabulary.  “ _Fuck_ , Gregory!”

“I don’t think either of us has the patience for that right now, love.  Tell me you have some lube nearby.  I’d hate to think this gorgeous cock of yours hasn’t been getting the attention it deserves.”

Mycroft leaned towards the bedside table and fumbled open the drawer.  He was further made clumsy by Greg applying his tongue to his nipple.  Mycroft shuddered and grasped the bottle, handing it over to Greg.  “It does get plenty of attention these days, by my hand and thoughts of you.”  He shuddered harder as Greg got some lube into his fingers and started stroking Mycroft again. 

“Mmm, well I’m glad that it hasn’t been completely neglected.  But it’s under new management.  I’ll be seeing to your cock from now on, if you’re amenable.” 

Mycroft closed his eyes and let out a shaky sigh as Greg’s slick fingers slid over his balls, massaging them.  “I am happy to cede control of it if I can be assured that you… _oh_ …have a long-term plan in place.”

Greg’s hand stilled, and Mycroft realised what he’d said.  His eyes flew open and he looked up at Greg apprehensively.  He was looking down at Mycroft, his expression soft and yearning.  “Long term‘s the only thing I’m interested in, love.”  He lowered his head and captured Mycroft’s lips with his, and as he deepened the kiss, Mycroft reached up and curled his hands around Greg’s shoulders, pulling him into an embrace. 

Greg let go of Mycroft’s cock as he stretched out on top of him, settling between his legs and thrust his hips against Mycroft’s.  Mycroft wrapped his legs around Greg’s hips, adjusting his own hips so that they were constantly in contact.  Greg tore his mouth from Mycroft’s as he let out a shout of ecstasy.  “Mycroft, oh fuck.”  He rained kisses along Mycroft’s collar bone. “Look at these freckles.  Look at them all. I’m going to get to know each one, if you’ll let me.  I’ve wanted you so long, Mycroft.  Please don’t let this be a one-off.”

Mycroft ran his fingers through Greg’s silver hair.  “Not a chance, my darling. You are my Christmas present, so you’re mine now.”  He could barely get out the words, panting at the exertion of their thrusts.  He could feel his orgasm start to build. 

Greg buried his nose against Mycroft’s neck, puffs of his breath causing goosebumps.  “Do me a favour, love,” he rasped, “Take those long, lovely fingers of yours and wrap them around our cocks.   Finish us off, love.”

Without hesitation, Mycroft lifted his hand.  Greg had somehow found the lube and he squirted some on Mycroft’s fingers.  He grasped both of their erections with his hand and slid it up and down, their breathy moans mingling.  Greg gazed at him in something like adoration.  “I can feel you’re about to come.  I can’t believe I’m gonna get to see it.”  He broke into a smile so bright that Mycroft faltered in his rhythm.  “Let me see you come, Mycroft.” 

The smile was what put Mycroft over the edge.  That he would be the cause of such delight was more than he could bear.  He shuddered as he came, his thighs quivering, Greg whispering words of praise that encouraged another spasm.  When his own cock was spent, he shifted his hand so that Greg’s cock had full attention.  Mycroft could see by the expression on his face that he was close. 

“You beautiful man,” he whispered, the endorphins of his release flooding through him until he could feel tears spark in his eyes.  He kissed Greg on his temple, carding his fingers through his silky hair.  Greg whimpered as he thrust hard into Mycroft’s grip.  Mycroft gave a little twist of his hand, and suddenly Greg was coming hard. 

When he was finished, he threw his head back, exhaling a breathy laugh.  “Bloody hell.  Christ, that…I don’t think I’ve ever come so hard in my life.”  His body had remained taut throughout his orgasm, but now he melted back into the mattress, boneless with pleasure.  He tugged on Mycroft’s shoulder, and Mycroft needed no extra urging to drape himself against Greg’s body, resting his head on his shoulder.  

They lay there for some time, both radiating contentment.  Mycroft realised for the first time that he hadn’t paid much attention to the ring that was on Greg’s hand.  The one he’d used to sham the nurse.  “Where did you get that ring, Gregory?  Is that…”  He lifted his head and stared at Greg. “Is that your old wedding ring?”  He felt himself freeze up at the idea that Greg would have carried it around all this time.

Greg chuckled and pulled him tighter.  “No, I didn’t keep it out of sentimental value, you berk.  It got lost in the lining of my old coat.  I happened to find it when I was at the hospital on business.”  He gazed at the ring for a moment, then tugged it off.  “Much as I appreciate its role in our little charade last night, it’s outlived its usefulness.”  He tossed it a few feet, and Mycroft heard the sharp rap of it bouncing on the wood floor. 

Mycroft curled his lip.  “Good riddance.”  He made a promise to himself that if he were ever fortunate to put a ring on Greg’s finger, he would never have cause to take it off.  “Why _were_ you at the hospital last night?”

Greg huffed in annoyance.  “Got called in to take a victim statement and the poor bugger scarpered.  But it all turned out well, didn’t it?  Great coincidence that you were there at the same time.”

Mycroft hummed in agreement.  Indeed it _was_ a great coincidence.  Enough of one that he made a mental note to get Anthea’s opinion on the subject.  He had a feeling she knew more about what exactly happened last night than she reported on in her e-mail this morning.  Mycroft supposed that she was likely owed a _very_ generous Christmas bonus this year.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: when I first wrote the story, I hadn't intended that Anthea orchestrated Greg's appearance at the hospital. It was a spontaneous decision when I was writing the ending.
> 
> You can find me gushing about mystrade on sherlock-nanowrimo.tumblr.com


End file.
